


Only Get a Second Chance When Danger's on the Wind

by rockmusicplays



Series: Lonely In Your Nightmare [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, McCall Pack, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Stalia, Werewolf!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockmusicplays/pseuds/rockmusicplays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There weren't many perks to being human, but Malia was sure Stiles could have been one of them. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>The pack resorts to drastic measures to stop the Nogitsune and save Stiles. And Malia's night only gets worse from there.</p><p>Takes place about a week before There Is Heat Beneath Your Winter. This means this is pre-Stalia. Stalia-in-progress, really. Stick with me on this. There are cuddles. I swear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Get a Second Chance When Danger's on the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> So after all that, this isn't even the story I originally meant to post. This was never meant to be a story period, let alone part of this series. But I ran into some trouble with the story I was supposed to be working on, and this happened instead. 
> 
> I know Malia comes off as a little OOC, but it made more sense to me to keep writing her the way I had been writing her, rather than changing her personality to fit better with the show's canon. Especially since this series doesn't follow the show's canon past the first bit of Echo House. And a handful of details regarding the Nogitsune.
> 
> Unbeta'd yet again because I'm impatient and I've made you wait long enough.
> 
> Title borrowed from Duran Duran's Lonely in Your Nightmare.

Considering what Scott and Stiles had done to her with their meddling and compulsive need to play hero, Malia was at a loss to explain why she was currently following Scott and his friend Lydia into the empty high school - in broad daylight no less - in search of Scott's possessed partner in crime.

When Ms. Morel had sprung her from Eichen House, Malia had every intention of getting the hell out of dodge. She didn't owe these people anything. But Stiles had told her that his friends could help her change herself back in to a coyote, and the longer she spent as a teenage girl, the more she hated it. Humanity was complicated and messy, and she wanted no part of it.

Scott had been surprised when she turned up on his doorstep, but he promised he would do whatever he could to help her once Stiles was safe. Volunteering for the search party was just practical. The sooner this Nogitsune drama was dealt with, the sooner he could focus on her problem. The problem he'd caused with his stupid Alpha powers in the first place.

Cursing Morel for not warning her about this Japanese trickster bullshit before she left the institution, Malia helped Scott pry open a side door so the three of them could sneak inside. The door Scott had chosen led in to the cafeteria, which smelled like fryer grease and cheap disinfectant. Malia wrinkled her nose, wondering how the hell anyone could bring themselves to eat in a place that reeked that badly.

"Why would the Nogitsune be hiding in an empty school?" Malia asked quietly, following Scott's path through the rows of tables.

"It came here once before," Scott replied, pushing open a set of double doors. "It likes chaos, and hurting kids tends to get people pretty worked up. Stiles knows this place, so it makes sense that the Nogitsune would try to use that to its advantage. Maybe set more traps."

"Traps?" Malia hissed, grabbing his arm. "You think this thing is in here setting traps, and you expect us to go prowling around in the dark?"

"We know this place, too," Lydia said, narrowing her eyes in annoyance. "And we have a little experience with the kind of games it likes to play. We're not going in blind."

"And we know Stiles," Scott added. "He's been fighting this thing right from the start. If the Nogitsune wants to hurt us, he'll make it work for it." Scott sounded sure of himself, but his heartbeat betrayed his anxiety. 

Lydia's poker face was much better than Scott's. She managed to look completely focused and in control while throwing off fear in waves so thick Malia could almost taste it. Neither of them were doing much to settle her own unease.

Stiles hadn't been at Eichen House for very long, but it was enough for Malia to decided she didn't actually hate him as much as she thought she should. He'd been sick and scared and hurting the entire time, but he'd been nice to her anyway. Even when she was giving him shit for ruining her life. 

The anxious vibe Scott was giving off was getting stronger the farther into the building they got. It wasn't until they reached the locker rooms that Malia realized the subtle something else she was picking up on that she'd had pegged as fear wasn't what it seemed. There was a note of desperation, faint but tangible. Scott was scared alright, but he wasn't scared of Stiles. He was scared _for_ Stiles.

"Remind me again what the plan is if we actually manage to find him?" Malia asked, trying to distract herself from the aching feeling in her chest Scott and his stupid emotions had caused. Scott had gone over what little information they had on the subject on the drive here, but he answered her anyway.

The scroll had been vague, the phrasing doing nothing to help with the language barrier. But Deaton's translation was all they had to go on, and this was their last shot to save Stiles. Aside from the less than stellar odds of success, there was also the issue of Stiles being unable to consent to Scott giving him the bite.

Scott had filled her in on all of the things Stiles hadn't wanted to talk about at Eichen. He hadn't gone into detail, but painted a pretty grim picture nonetheless. Aggressive early-onset dementia. Because being possessed by a malevolent trickster spirit wasn't awful enough. 

The two boys had very briefly discussed what would happen if Stiles' scan came back positive, but that was before they knew he was the one the Oni were looking for. And according to Scott, it had been less of a conversation and more Stiles trying really hard to act like he wasn't terrified and Scott promising that he would do whatever he had to do to fix him if it came to that.

Malia may not have known Scott all that well, but it didn't take much to see that he was not even the tiniest bit comfortable with what he was going to have to do. When Malia questioned his reluctance given the lack of a better option - or any option at all for that matter - he told her that the thought of forcing the bite on Stiles the way Peter had forced it on him made him sick.

Lydia had quickly changed the subject to whether it had been a good idea to let the twins go off by themselves, doubting their commitment to actually being helpful. Scott had given Lydia an apologetic look, and they started talking about what their next move would be in the likely event that everyone came up empty before nightfall.

Malia filed Peter away as a topic to be broached at a later date, when there were less pressing issues. Whoever this guy was, it was apparently a sore subject for both Scott and Lydia. While Lydia seemed the type to hold a grudge, Scott struck her as the kind of guy who was nice to everyone, whether they deserved it or not. The kind of guy you'd really have to work at pissing off. 

The teens finished their sweep of the main floor and moved on to the basement. The moment Lydia opened the door, Malia knew they'd found what they were looking for. They'd been trying to pick up Stiles' scent, but it was next to impossible in a place like this, even for Scott. Too many bodies moved through these hallways every day, the presence of humans so constant that even hours after classes had ended it overwhelmed Malia's senses when she tried to focus and sort through it all for something that felt familiar.

Once they hit the bottom of the stairs, it took Scott all of a minute to figure out his best friend was holed up in the storage area behind the utility room. 

Stiles was not in good shape. At first glance, it looked like the Nogitsune was possessing a corpse. He was hollow eyed and pale, and Malia was convinced that the only thing keeping him standing was the creature pulling his strings. Beside her, Scott let out a soft whine at the sight. 

The thing wearing Stiles' face grinned. "I was hoping it would be you that found me," it said, leaning against a set of shelves and fixing Scott with an appreciative stare. "The pack's beloved Alpha. Everyone seems to be awfully fond of you. Imagine what finding you in pieces is going to do to them. Imagine what tearing you apart will do to Stiles."

Scott growled, shifting as he put himself between Lydia and the Nogitsune. Malia stepped up beside him, searching out the wild part of herself that made her faster and stronger and pulling it to the surface. She might not have had fangs anymore, but that didn't mean she couldn't do some serious damage if she put her mind to it.

The Nogitsune laughed, a low grating chuckle that sounded so very wrong coming out of Stiles' mouth. It made Malia's skin crawl, and she felt Lydia shudder behind her. Then it was moving, slamming Stiles' shoulder against the shelving unit, sending it crashing to the floor and scattering the trio. 

Lydia screamed, backing against the wall and tightening her grip on the strap of her bag. Her purse held their secret weapon; a box carved from the wood of the Nemeton. If Scott was able to flush the Nogitsune out of Stiles, it would be up to Lydia to trap it inside before it had a chance to escape and find another host. 

Kicking aside a case of pencils, the Nogitsune advanced on Lydia. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, it sent her sprawling into the far corner of the room.

Scott howled, vaulting over the fallen shelves and catching the Nogitsune around the middle, hauling it down like a linebacker and using his own body to cushion the impact. Even when it was actively trying to kick their asses, Scott refused to hurt Stiles. Malia groaned. He was going to get them all killed if he kept pulling his punches.

The thing controlling Stiles was not nearly as concerned with his well being as Scott was, and it got really ugly, really quickly after that. Not wanting to get caught up in the scuffle, Lydia had retreated as far as she could, wedging herself between the back wall and a file cabinet as the Nogitsune threw Scott against another of the shelves, toppling the entire row and sending boxes of pens and highlighters cascading over Lydia's hiding place.

Steeling herself, Malia clamored over the debris littering the floor and grabbed a hold of Stiles' hood, yanking the Nogitsune off balance. Scott used the opportunity to sweep Stiles' legs out from under it, sending it crashing to the ground. It came up snarling and landed a punch to the side of Scott's head that echoed sickeningly through the cavernous room. 

Malia kicked out at the Nogitsune, aiming for Stiles' lower back. It spun around and caught her by the ankle, wrenching until she felt tendons snap. She screamed in agony, landing hard on her ass and backing franticly away as it advanced on her, twisting Stiles' features into something ugly and inhuman.

Fear and pain quickly turned to rage. How dare this disgusting creature use Stiles like this? How dare it use his hands to spill the blood of people he cared about? People who would rather die than hurt him?

Gritting her teeth against the throbbing ache radiating up her leg, Malia launched herself at Stiles, pinning his body to the floor and screaming for Scott to wake the fuck up and help her. The Alpha came staggering over to them as the Nogitsune bucked her off, already getting back to its feet by the time he reached them. 

Flipping on to her stomach, Malia grabbed Stiles' leg, trying to unbalance it again while Scott made a solid effort at knocking it into the front wall.

The Nogitsune pulled free from Malia and seized Scott by the throat, shaking him like a dog with a chew toy. Using the edge of a shelf for support, Malia got up and threw herself onto Stiles' back, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing.

Still holding on to Scott, it backed towards the last shelf left standing and slammed Malia against it, making her see stars. When she refused to let go, it heaved an irritated sigh and tossed Scott aside. It reached back and seized her left shoulder, driving the heel of Stiles' hand into her collarbone hard enough to shatter it.

Malia shrieked, fisting her good hand in the fabric of Stiles' hoodie and locking her legs around his waist. "Seriously?" it muttered, moving to do the same thing to her right side.

Scott used the split second it was distracted with Malia to sink his canines into Stiles' shoulder. Stiles fell to his knees, sending Malia rolling until she collided with an upended case of printer paper. Blinking to clear her vision, Malia hauled herself into a sitting position, her attention on Stiles.

The end result was something out of this stupid Japanese-style horror movie Malia had been forced to sit through at a sleepover the summer before the accident. Which was appropriate under the circumstances, but utterly terrifying. He was convulsing hard enough to break bones, which along with the screaming was enough to guarantee Malia nightmares for the rest of her life.

There was the scrape of cardboard against cardboard and a metallic clang, and Lydia came into view. She was tear-streaked and shaking, but aside from a cut on her leg she seemed no worse for wear.

Malia tried to find a position to hold her arm in that didn't make her want to pass out and eyed Stiles warily. The whole point of this was to force the Nogitsune out of his body, but as far as Malia could tell, that hadn't happened yet. Lydia was standing over him, holding the little round container in one hand and the lid in the other, angling them towards each other like she was trying to trap a spider that had gotten into the bathtub. 

Stiles gave a wet, hacking cough that sent something small and glowy into the air. Malia caught a brief glimpse of it before Lydia scooped it into the container and sealed it shut with a _click_. That was going on Malia's increasingly long list of things-to-ask-about-later. Because that looked like a firefly. And there was no way a fucking bug with a glow in the dark ass was responsible for all of this. 

Scott had shifted back to human, and he was sitting on the floor beside Stiles looking like he either wanted to puke or cry. Stiles lay motionless save for shallow, pained breaths and a steady trickle of black leaking out of his nose.

"Lydia?" Scott's voice was raw. Malia would have guessed it was from having his throat crushed, but the way he was looking at the tiny redhead had her thinking it wasn't physical pain that made it sound like her name had been forcibly dragged out of him.

"It's quiet," Lydia told him, carefully setting the box back into her bag. That seemed to placate Scott, which confused the hell out of Malia until she remembered that Lydia was a banshee. He wasn't asking if she was okay. He wanted to know if he'd just killed his best friend. "But he doesn't look good," she added after a long moment.

"We should get him to Derek. Maybe he'll know what to do?" Malia suggested uncertainly. She was new to this werewolf business, but Isaac had told her that Derek was the Alpha before Scott was. He'd been the one to bite Isaac. Granted, that was a little different than using the bite as an exorcism, but if anyone would be able to help Stiles, it would be Derek.

"Help me get him up," Scott said to Lydia. Between the two of them, they managed to get Stiles out of the wreckage, Malia hobbling along behind them. Her shoulder was still killing her and she could feel some impressive bruising blooming on her back and hip to go along with the knot on her head, but her ankle seemed to be on the mend. 

Scott wasn't in much better shape. There was a bloody gash along his right side, and the way he appeared to be trying his very best to not breathe was a pretty good indication that he'd messed up a few ribs when the Nogitsune decided to use him as a human wrecking ball.

Ignoring her injuries, Malia traded places with Lydia, ducking under Stiles' arm and taking some of his weight off of Scott. Lydia took hold of Stiles' feet, helping them get him up the stairs.

"Are you okay to drive?" Scott asked gently once they got Stiles loaded into the backseat of Lydia's car. 

Lydia nodded, brushing away her tears. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Worry about Stiles."

Scott crawled in beside his still unconscious friend, hauling him across the seat and looping his arms around Stiles' chest. Lydia was pulling away from the school before Malia even had the chance to shut the passenger side door.

They drove in tense silence for a few minutes before Lydia's eyes darted to the rearview mirror, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Scott! Be careful!" she scolded. 

Malia twisted carefully around in her seat, curious as to what Lydia was so upset about. Neither of the boys had made a peep. It took a second for her brain to register the creepy dark veins snaking their way across the back of Scott's hand and up his forearm. The same hand that was curled around Stiles' wrist.

"Scott!" Lydia said again, sounding frantic. "That's enough!"

Scott's eyes were rolling back in his head, and Malia instinctively reached back and yanked his hand away from Stiles, sending a bolt of pain across her chest and down her arm. Stiles had gone limp, his breathing evening out into something approaching a normal rhythm. 

"What the hell was that?" Malia demanded, glaring at Scott once he'd recovered enough to meet her gaze.

"He's hurting." Scott readjusted his grip to keep Stiles from slipping off of the seat, his head lolling against Scott's neck. "I had to do something."

"Did it help?" Lydia asked.

"I think so," Scott replied, eyes falling shut. "Just get us to Derek."

Malia kept watching them the rest of the way to the loft. Stiles' nose was still dripping black fluid, running down the side of his face and soaking the front of his shirt. The sight made her stomach churn. As much as she wanted to pretend she was just grossed out, it wasn't disgust that was making her nauseous. 

One of the first things Malia had noticed about Stiles was that he was never still. He fidgeted constantly, fingers tugging and tapping, leg jiggling, gaze bouncing around the room. Seeing him so quiet and still was eerie and unsettling, like driving past a long abandoned amusement park. There was nothing sadder than seeing something meant to be filled with sunlight and laughter left empty and dark.

She had a sudden memory of honey brown eyes trying very hard to not look anywhere but straight into hers, and for a brief moment she let herself put a name to the sour feeling in her stomach; regret. This stupid boy with his stupid freckles who'd done nothing but fuck up her life since the second he crossed her path was going to die before she had the chance to find out what he looked like when he smiled.

There weren't many perks to being human, but Malia was sure Stiles could have been one of them. 

Allison, Kira and Isaac were already at the loft when they brought Stiles inside, Scott and Malia supporting him between them, his arms flung over their shoulders. The plan had been to meet up here after they'd done a sweep of the city, which meant the twins wouldn't be far behind them.

Getting a good look at Stiles under decent lighting for the first time did nothing to reassure Malia that he wasn't at death's door. He was pale to the point where his skin had turned gray, and paired with the black substance smeared across his cheek and down his neck it made him look like a hapless victim out of an old Universal horror film.

Kira slapped her hands over her mouth to smother a scream, Allison and Isaac watching them with identical looks of shock as they lowered Stiles onto Derek's sofa, propping him up so that he was sitting slumped against Scott's side.

"Kira, you need to call your mom right now," Scott said, a panicked edge creeping into his voice. "Tell her the Nogitsune isn't inside Stiles anymore. She needs to call off the Oni before they hurt someone."

"We found him at the school," Lydia added. "Someone should go back there and make sure he - _it_ \- didn't leave any surprises behind."

"And maybe clean up the mess in the basement before someone sees it," Malia put in.

"I, I'll call my dad," Allison offered, turning away from them to hide her tears as she dug her cell phone out of her bag. "He'll know what to look for." Both Allison and Kira bolted into the hallway, Allison pulling the door shut behind them.

"What the hell did you do?" Derek was standing in front of the sofa before Malia even realized he was in the room. He reached towards Stiles, hand hovering over the teeth marks on his shoulder.

"I was trying to save him," Scott said, sounding like a scared kid who wanted nothing more than for the grownups to tell him that things weren't as bad as they seemed.

"By biting him?" Derek snapped, his face a mask of terror and grief. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"It was the only way we knew to get rid of the Nogitsune without killing him," he said miserably. "I had to do it. I couldn’t let him die."

"He _is_ dying, you idiot! Look at him!" Derek growled. "You've seen this before. You know what it means."

"You don't know that for sure," Scott insisted, fighting back tears. "It could be a side effect from the possession."

"Call Peter." Lydia's tone brokered no argument, as much as the werewolves looked like they wanted to. Scowling, Derek pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

_"I told you I wanted no part of your wild goose chase,"_ said a bored-sounding voice, which Malia could hear with surprising clarity.

"We found him," Derek replied. "You need to come to the loft."

_"What the hell for?"_

"Scott bit him, and I don't think it worked."

_"And?"_

"Give me the phone," Lydia demanded. Derek raised his eyebrows, but handed it over. "Get your ass over here right now," she snapped.

_"If his body is rejecting the bite, there is nothing I can do for him. There's nothing anyone can do for him."_

"There are extenuating circumstances," Lydia insisted.

_"Lydia, if he were about to shuffle off the mortal coil, wouldn't you be the first to know? Either he's dying, and I can't help him, or he's not dying, and I still can't help him. Why are you bothering me with this?"_

"Because you still need _my_ help."

_"Fine,"_ he replied tersely. _"But if I do this, I want the name."_

"Done." Lydia disconnected the call.

"What the hell was that about?" Isaac asked.

"I'll explain later." Lydia perched on the arm of the sofa, carding her fingers through Stiles' hair. Isaac sat himself on the coffee table across from Scott, looking lost.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Scott said softly. "I promised him he'd be okay."

"He will be," Isaac said. "This is Stiles we're talking about. He's the most stubborn human being on the planet. He'll pull through just to prove Derek wrong."

Derek rolled his eyes. "The sad thing is you're probably right. He has a history of doing the exact opposite of what he's told."

Malia felt like she was intruding on a private moment, and the loft's open-concept layout didn't leave her with many options. She retreated into the kitchen, hopping up on to one of the bar stools at the center island. The movement jarred bone fragments that were still trying to knit themselves back together. She gasped, gripping the edge of the counter until the pain receded into something a little more tolerable.

"Mind if I take a look?" Derek was standing in the doorway, watching her carefully.

"Knock yourself out," she said, turning to face him.

"What hurts?"

Gingerly, she slid her thumb and forefinger under the collar of her sweater and tugged it down to reveal some impressive bruising and a swollen, misshapen lump. 

Derek frowned, taking hold of her bad arm and pressing it against her ribs, pushing up on her elbow until her shoulder screamed in protest.

"Hold it like that," he ordered, grabbing her other hand to replace his. "This is going to hurt, but if I don't do it, it won't set right."

Malia nodded, gritting her teeth. Derek ran his fingers over the worst of the damage, pushing the jagged edges into place beneath her skin. Once the pieces were aligned, Derek pressed his palm against the side of her neck. When he pulled away, Malia saw the same black lines she'd seen on Scott. 

"What did you just do?"

"I took some of your pain," Derek replied, flexing his hand like he was trying to get the feeling back into it. Sure enough, it no longer hurt to breathe.

"Okay, _how_ did you do that?"

"Werewolf trick," he shrugged. "But we need to be careful when we use it. You don't make the pain disappear, you take it into yourself. If you take too much..."

That explained why Lydia had been so freaked out. Scott was risking his life for the sake of making Stiles comfortable. "Um, thank you," Malia said awkwardly. "You really didn't have to do that."

A cell phone beeped in the next room, and moment later Isaac said, "Allison and Kira are going to meet Allison's dad at the school. She'll keep us posted."

"Tell her to call Aiden," Lydia said. "They're going to need help putting the supply room back together."

Isaac's phone beeped again. "Kira is still trying to get a hold of her mom. She'll call when she does," he told them. The sofa creaked, and a moment later Malia heard Scott's voice.

"Where are you?"

_"I just left the hospital,"_ a woman's voice replied. She sounded faint and tinny. _Phone_ , Malia realized. _"Where are you? Are you okay?"_

At this distance, she had to focus to hear the woman properly. It occurred to her that it was kind of rude for her to eavesdrop like this, but Derek seemed to be listening in to Scott's call as well. Careful to keep her arm still, Malia leaned sideways, giving herself a partial view of the sofa through the kitchen doorway. Lydia was still absently playing with Stiles' hair, her attention on the Alpha.

"I'm okay," Scott replied. "I'm at Derek's. Mom, I need you to do something for me."

_"Yeah. Of course. What do you need?"_

"Find Stiles' dad."

_"Way ahead of you,"_ she said.

"He's with you?" Scott asked, relief replacing some of the urgency in his tone.

_"We're on our way to the station."_

"No! You need to go home. Set the ash, and stay inside until morning. Both of you. Together. Okay?" Scott insisted.

_"You didn't find him."_

"No, we did. He's… He's Stiles again. But Kira can't reach her mom. I don't know if the Oni will still be out there tonight. I just need you guys to be safe."

_"You don't sound nearly as happy about that as you should,"_ she replied. _"What happened?"_ There was a second voice in the background, but it was too muffled for Malia to make out what was being said. 

"Just tell him that Stiles is asleep, and he'll call later," Scott instructed. "I love you," he added, hanging up before she could ask him any more questions.

"You should have told him," Lydia said disapprovingly. "If Stiles-"

"If I told him, he'd come over here," Scott said, cutting her off. "And if something happened to Stiles' dad, he'd never forgive me. And he wouldn't want his dad to see him like this."

Derek looked as uncomfortable and miserable as she felt. It was obvious he cared about these kids, but he didn't quite seem to fit with them. Something else for Malia to add to her list. 

Malia put her back to the doorway, propping the elbow of her good arm against the countertop. "So who the hell is Peter?" she asked, deciding now was as good a time as any to start getting some answers.

Derek tensed, hesitating before saying, "My uncle."

"What's his story? They talk about him like he's the antichrist." Malia inclined her head, indicating the group of teenagers camped out in Derek's living room.

Derek sat himself on the stool beside her, jaw working like he was trying to decide on the best way to answer. "Hunters burned our house down with my family trapped inside. Peter was the only survivor."

"Oh my god. By hunters, you mean people like Allison?" Malia couldn't imagine sweet, doe-eyed Allison hurting anyone, let alone murdering an entire family. She hadn't met Mr. Argent yet, but the way the kids talked about him made him seem like a protector of sorts. A somewhat reluctant one, maybe, but one of the good guys regardless.

"Allison's aunt, actually," Derek replied, bitterly.

"What?" She was suddenly glad she hadn't met Allison's father. She wasn't sure she wanted to now. Or if she'd ever be able to look at Allison the same way again.

"It's complicated."

"Apparently."

"Peter was disfigured and catatonic, and he spent years in a long term care facility," Derek continued. "My sister and I were at school when the fire happened, and we couldn’t stay in Beacon Hills after that. So we moved to New York. When Laura came back to town last year, Peter killed her so that he could be the Alpha. When we figured out what he'd done, I killed him. I became the Alpha."

"Wait, you killed him? The guy who's on his way over here right now, he died?" This day just kept getting weirder and weirder, and Malia was seriously regretting getting involved with these people.

"He attacked Lydia at a school dance a few nights before it happened. Instead of becoming a werewolf, it sort of activated her banshee abilities. And he had some sort of connection to her that he used to resurrect himself."

"Of course. That makes perfect sense." Malia sighed, covering her face with her good hand. "And after all that he just hangs out with you guys?"

"Not exactly. It's... it's also complicated."

"Right. And now Scott is the Alpha. Did he steal it from you?"

"Scott earned his Alpha status, and I gave mine up."

"How does that work?"

"Ah, it's sort of-"

"Don't say complicated," Malia groaned. 

Derek laughed. "I was actually going to say that it's a long story."

"Fine. What's the deal with Isaac?" she asked.

"What about him?" Derek sounded wary, and a little defensive.

"I'm guessing Peter bit Scott because he's crazy. But Isaac told me that you're the one who bit him. Why would you do that?" 

Derek scowled. He could act as put out as he pleased, but it didn't make it any less screwed up that he'd purposely turned Isaac into a monster. "The more Betas in a pack, the stronger the pack is, and the stronger the Alpha is. Scott wanted nothing to do with me. Neither did Jackson. So I did some recruiting." The bitterness was back in his voice, and Malia felt a little bad for bringing it up. She was still missing a lot of the picture here, and the more questions she asked, the less sure she was about the things she thought she already knew.

"Jackson?" Malia was already picking at a scab here, so she might as well keep at it.

"I had four Betas. Isaac, Jackson, Erica and Boyd." Derek paused, getting to his feet and circling to the other side of the island. He'd moved past bitter into something much uglier, and it had Malia kicking herself. This particular wound was obviously much fresher and much deeper than she'd realized. 

"Where are they?" she asked gently, already knowing she wasn't going to like Derek's answer.

"Jackson is living in London now. Erica and Boyd are dead." 

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"Were they, um…"

"Kids?" Derek offered. Malia nodded. "Yeah. They were. Scott's classmates."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the kitchen. Malia felt like she should apologize for bringing it up, but she didn't know what to say. Every one of them seemed to be surrounded by their own personal mine field, and Malia didn't have the first clue how to navigate any of them. The only person she hadn't inadvertently set off at some point was passed out on the sofa.

The minutes stretched on, until Malia felt like she was suffocating under the weight of the tension filling the loft. The click of high heels on concrete echoed like canon fire, breaking up the eerie quiet. Lydia headed straight for the kitchen sink. She helped herself to a handful of paper towels, running them under warm water. 

Climbing down from the stool, Malia followed her out into the main area. She leaned back against the brick wall, watching Lydia clean the black crap off of Stiles' skin. Whatever it was, it had finally stopped. That had to be a good sign.

Scott was sitting sideways on the sofa, one leg tucked up under him. He had his arms around Stiles' waist, curling himself around his still-unconscious friend. He was probably smearing blood all over the upholstery, but didn't seem overly concerned about it. The wound on his side had already closed up by the time they reached the loft, and cleaning himself up hadn't really been a priority.

Isaac leaned forward, sliding his fingers under the cuff of Stiles' sleeve. Scott blinked at him, confused but clearly pleased. "If I don't, you will," Isaac said defensively. "And you really shouldn't. You look like hell."

He gave Isaac a small, fond smile. "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

"Shut up," Isaac muttered, shoulders tensing as the black pain lines began to color his skin. He stayed like that for much longer than Malia figured was safe. Either Stiles was getting better, or Isaac was stronger than Scott was at the moment. Given that all Isaac had done today was follow the girls around, that was probably the better explanation, but Malia was hoping it was a little of both.

When he finally pulled away, Isaac was pale and unsteady, bracing his palms on his knees to keep himself sitting upright. "I'm good," he insisted when Scott reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "I just need a second."

Scott didn't look convinced, but before he could say anything to his Beta the loft door slid open. Standing in the hallway was a man Malia assumed had to be Peter. She wasn't sure what exactly she'd been expecting, but it wasn't this. Thirtyish, well-groomed, and wearing jeans and a grey Henley with the sleeves pushed up, he hardly looked the part of a murderous psychopath. 

"Well don't you two look cozy," he said, smirking at Scott. The Alpha gave him a dirty look, tightening his grip on Isaac's shoulder. Lydia dropped the dirty paper towels onto the table beside Isaac and came to stand with Derek, who'd emerged from the kitchen and somehow managed to look even grimmer than he had when Malia had left him a few minutes ago.

"Shut up, Peter," Derek said wearily. The _you-just-got-here-and-I'm-already-sick-of-your-face-so-don't-push-me_ was heavily implied.

"Nice to see you, too," Peter replied, slamming the door shut. If the frosty welcome bothered him at all, he didn't let it show. He was probably used to it by now. "Tell me what happened."

Scott stared him down as he crossed the room, heading straight for the sofa. "We found him at the school," he explained. "Malia helped me get close enough to bite him. Lydia trapped the Nogitsune in the claw box, and Stiles passed out. It's been almost an hour, and he still hasn't woken up."

"Who the hell is Malia?" Peter asked, leaning down to inspect the bite mark.

"Hi," Malia called out, giving him a sarcastic little wave when he turned to look at her over his shoulder.

Peter studied her for a long moment, head cocked. "Where did you find her?"

"Long story," Scott replied, annoyed. Peter rolled his eyes.

"Right." He cupped Stiles' jaw, tilting his head back and studying his face. Frowning, he gestured at the dark stain on Stiles' shirt. "And this?"

"His nose," Lydia said.

"Just his nose? He wasn't coughing it up? Nothing from the bite?"

"No." 

Peter hummed thoughtfully, his fingers sliding from Stiles' cheek down to his neck, and then to the teeth marks. "He's not strong enough to have survived the bite. Not after being possessed for this long. And yet somehow he's perfectly fine."

"You call this fine?" Isaac asked incredulously.

"All things considered, yes. The Nogitsune has been wearing his body down for as long as it was inside him." Peter moved his fingers back up to Stiles' neck, and Malia caught a quick glimpse of black trailing across his palm before he pulled away. Not soothing, just testing. "And if I had to guess, he hasn't slept or eaten since it took total control, what, five days ago?" he added.

"But he's gonna be okay, right?" Scott demanded. He'd let go of Isaac the second Peter was close enough to touch Stiles, and now that Peter had moved away, Scott was hauling Stiles in against his chest.

"Well, his body isn't rejecting the bite," Peter confirmed, shaking his hand out the same way Derek had after he'd helped Malia. "If it was, he wouldn't be unconscious, he'd be in agony."

"In the car on the way here he-"

"I know he's in pain. A lot of it. But I mean real agony. Screaming and begging for death kind of agony. This? Nothing to do with the bite," Peter said firmly. Malia got the feeling he was speaking from firsthand experience. An experience he seemed very glad to not have to relive tonight.

"So now what? We just wait it out?" Scott didn't sound very happy about that, but he was calmer than Malia had ever seen him. Whatever his personal feelings towards Peter were, Scott obviously trusted his judgment on this.

"Clean the bite before it gets infected, and let him sleep it off," Peter instructed. "Congratulations, Scott. You've just made your first Beta. It's about time someone bit the useful one."

"He didn't want this, Peter," Scott snapped. "If he wasn't sick, I would never have even considered it."

"Sick?" Peter asked, sounding confused.

"Some brain thing," Isaac offered when no one else seemed inclined to answer.

"Dementia," Scott clarified. "The same kind his mom had. He was already dying before the Nogitsune got to him."

"Now I'm really impressed he pulled through. Evidently, he's much stronger than he looks." Peter laid a hand on the top of Stiles' head, genuine affection in his voice. Scott, Isaac and Derek promptly growled at him, eyes flashing red, gold and blue in clear warning. Peter huffed out a sigh, more irritated than intimidated, before withdrawing his hand.

"I think we can take it from here." Derek said pointedly.

"Once Lydia gives me what she promised, I'll be out of your hair." Peter folded his arms, eyeing the redhead expectantly. "The name, Lydia," he prompted when Lydia stayed silent.

Lydia shifted uncomfortably. Peter made an impatient sound, and Lydia squared her shoulders and shook her head. Peter had a hold of her arm a split-second later, pulling her out of Derek's reach.

"Don't touch her!" Scott vaulted over the coffee table, catching Lydia's other arm and shoving her behind him.

"We had a deal!" Peter hissed, glaring at Lydia over Scott's shoulder. 

Lydia stood her ground, holding Peter's furious gaze and saying in as even a tone as she could muster after having been manhandled by a pair of werewolves, "I know. And I will tell you. It's just… it's complicated. It's complicated and I don't think tonight is the time to have this conversation."

"Something happened." Peter switched from pissed off to defeated so quickly that even Lydia looked confused.

"No!" Lydia said. "No, she's fine. I promise." 

"She?" Malia was officially lost. Peter looked like he was on the verge of tears, and Derek looked slightly terrified. Lydia pressed her lips together in a hard line and nodded. The motion was jerky and stiff, like answering Peter was the absolute last thing she wanted to do. "I have a daughter." 

Peter's voice was so soft Malia thought she'd only imagined he'd spoke, but Derek's hysterical _What?_ said otherwise. Scott's horrified gaze was bouncing back and forth between Lydia and Peter. Isaac was frozen on the sofa, one hand fisted in Stiles' shirt from where he'd been trying to prop him back up after Scott had come to Lydia's rescue.

"The memory that Talia stole from me," Peter said, sounding dazed. "It was the memory of my child."

"Why would she do that?" Isaac asked, still clinging to Stiles.

"I don't know," Peter replied. "And right now, I don't care. I just want to know her name. I want to see my child, and I have waited far too long already. So tell me."

"It's not that simple," Lydia said pleadingly. "She doesn't know that her father isn't her birth father. Springing something like this on her, it isn't fair."

"Don't talk to me about fair," Peter snarled, taking a heated step towards her. Scott shoved him back. "My child was stolen from me. By my own sister. Fair is not part of the equation here." Derek had come up behind Lydia and placed a reassuring hand against her back. Peter took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was ice. "Lydia, don't make me ask again."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Lydia darted away from the werewolves and straight towards Malia. "I'm sorry," Lydia whispered, taking hold of Malia's hand. "I wanted to tell you first, but I didn't know how. I thought I would have more time, once Stiles was safe."

"Wait, what?" Malia asked dumbly.

"Hold on," Isaac stopped fussing with Stiles long enough to shoot an accusing look at the banshee. "You knew Peter had a kid running around Beacon Hills and never said anything?"

"We've only known for a couple of weeks," Lydia informed them, sounding a little less rattled than she had a minute ago. "And we had bigger problems to deal with."

"Who's we?" Scott frowned, looking wounded at the thought of his friends keeping things from him.

"Allison was with me when Peter gave me the claws," Lydia admitted. "I don't know how I got it to work, but I did. I could hear Peter and Talia arguing. When I told her what happened, Allison helped me figure out what it meant."

"Okay, hold up." Malia tugged her hand out of Lydia's. "You're gonna have to run that by me one more time. Because its sounds like you're implying that I'm involved in this somehow."

"I'm not implying anything. It's the truth."

"It can't be," Malia insisted, cringing internally at the quiver in her voice. "That doesn't make any sense. That would mean that my mom… She wouldn't have done that to my dad. That’s not the kind of person she was."

"You were really young when she died," Lydia said gently. "And parents aren't perfect. They make mistakes."

"Who was your mother?" Peter asked, dodging Scott's attempt to restrain him. Lydia spun around, planting herself firmly in front of Malia, her heart racing. Peter stopped short, blinking at her with a bemused grin. It was like watching a tiny, fluffy bunny try to intimidate a mountain lion.

Malia was no bunny. "Karen Tate," she said, stepping around Lydia and nudging her in the general direction of Derek and Scott. Lydia was stubborn, staying at Malia's side and continuing to glare daggers at Peter, hands on her hips.

"Of course," Peter said, more to himself than Malia. He edged into her personal space, and she had to fight the urge to shrink back. All of the swagger and aloofness was gone, replaced by something open and raw that made Malia's insides squirm. "You have her eyes," he added, reaching out to touch her cheek.

"Stop." Malia jerked away from the contact and winced. Her collarbone had healed, but it was still tender.

"Leave her alone. You're freaking her out," Scott ordered.

Peter ignored him. "You're hurt."

"We didn't stop the Nogitsune by asking nicely," Malia scowled, moving out of his reach.

"What were you doing there in the first place?" Peter demanded. "What does any of this have to do with you?"

_That's none of your damn business,_ she wanted to tell him. Instead, she plastered on what she hopped was a neutral expression and said, "I got to know Stiles when he checked himself into Eichen House. He was in trouble, and I wanted to help."

"Eichen House is a mental institution," Peter pointed out, giving her a look that suggested he was waiting for her to correct herself. Malia rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, well, when you start telling people that you're a werecoyote, they tend to think you're crazy."

"Maybe because there's no such thing as a werecoyote," Peter replied, irritation coloring his tone. "And even if there were, you're not one. Its genetically impossible."

"Right," Malia huffed. " Because supposedly you're my father."

"Malia, it’s the truth," Lydia insisted. Her voice was firm, but her expression was sympathetic. "When Peter heard about the car accident, he realized what it meant. He wanted to look for you, and Talia wouldn't let him. She made him forget to protect the pack."

"Who's Talia?" Malia asked, balling her hands into tight fists in an effort to hide how hard she was trembling. 

"My mom," Derek replied in a small voice. 

Isaac had finally managed to get Stiles to stay upright without assistance, abandoning the sofa in favor of hovering next to Derek. Inching closer to the older Beta, Isaac bumped Derek's shoulder. "Why would your mom leave her out in the woods like that? What was she afraid of?"

Derek shrugged helplessly, shaking his head. "I don't know. I can't... she wouldn't do something like that. Not to a child. Not to family. Unless…" he trailed off, confusion giving way to dismay. "Unless she thought if Tate found out about the pack, he'd do to us what Kate did. But she wouldn't have just left her out there alone," Derek added, adamant. "She must not have been able to find her."

"Stiles' dad said the car was in that ravine for days before anyone found it," Scott piped up. "There were cops everywhere after that. It could have been a week or longer before Talia got a chance to go looking for her."

"Could we not talk about me like I'm not standing right here?" Malia snapped, furious. They were tossing around theories like the things they were saying didn't have massive, earth-shattering consequences. Like her entire existence hadn't just been flipped on its head.

"Sorry," Scott said sheepishly. 

"Malia, can we go somewhere and talk?" Peter brought his arm up like he intended to try and touch her again, then seemed to think better of it, leaning forward and ducking his head to try and catch her gaze. "They have their hands full here, and I know you must have questions." 

Malia scowled and took another step back, bumping against the kitchen door frame. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I realize this is a lot to deal with but-"

"I said no," she snarled, giving up on trying to keep a lid on her emotions. "I don't want to talk. I don't want answers. I want you to stay the hell away from me."

"You heard Lydia. I wanted to help you." He seemed more offended by her response than hurt.

"Maybe you were different then. Before the fire." Peter stiffened at that, jaw clenching. "But I don't want anything to do with the person you are now."

Peter scowled, folding his arms. "Whatever it is you think you know about me, you have to understand-"

"Understand what?" Malia snapped, pushing away from the wall and drawing herself up to her full height. He still towered over her, but his eyes widened minutely. Predator recognizing predator. "Where do you want to start? What you did to Scott, what you did to Lydia, or what you did to Laura?"

Peter turned on Lydia, eyes glowing blue with fury. To her credit, she didn't budge an inch, even with Peter right in her face. "You knew, and you let them poison her against me anyway?"

"No one told her anything that wasn't true," Lydia replied dismissively. Peter made a sharp, angry sound that was more animal than man, prompting Derek to haul Lydia away from him. This time, she didn't protest. 

Scott and Isaac were circling around on either side of Peter, not so subtly forming a line of half-shifted wolves between him and the two girls.

"I think you should go." The words sounded clumsily from behind his fangs, but Scott's voice was iron hard and threatening. The voice that had made Malia shed her pelt. The voice of an Alpha. 

"I'm not going anywhere," Peter fired back, brandishing his claws.

"She needs time," Scott said, advancing on the disobedient Beta. "And like you said, we have our hands full already. Thank you for checking on Stiles. We can take it from here."

The seconds ticked by, and neither wolf showed any sign of backing down. Finally, Peter shifted back to human. "You kids are always so dramatic," he huffed. "This conversation can be resumed when all of you are a little less wound up."

"Good idea." Scott relaxed his stance just enough make it clear he was accepting Peter's retreat.

With one last glance in her direction, Peter stomped out of the loft, and Malia let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Derek pulled the door shut, and Lydia laid a tentative hand on Malia's shoulder. Part of her felt like she should be pissed with the banshee right now, but whether it was for not telling her about Peter or telling her about Peter, she wasn't quite sure. Her head was spinning, and she felt numb.

This couldn't be happening. She'd already lost her mother, her sister, and her childhood. Now she was losing her father. And her identity. Everything she was, her memories, her name, they were all a lie. _She_ was a lie. Her mother's dirty little secret.

"Malia?" Scott was eyeing her warily. "You, uh, you look like you should probably sit down for a minute." Malia thought she may have nodded, but she wasn't sure. She must have, because Scott was leading her over to the sofa. She made it as far as the coffee table before her legs gave out, the startled Alpha maneuvering her to sit on the edge.

"It's okay, Malia," he soothed, kneeling in front of her. "It's gonna be okay. We'll look out for you. Peter won't get near you. We won't let him. I swear."

"Okay," Malia choked out, fighting back tears. Scott's phone buzzed to life in his pocket. He squeezed her hand and got to his feet to answer it. 

"Kira! Are you okay? What's going on? Did y-"

_"Scott, listen to me! I'm so, so sorry. I tried to talk her out of it, I tried to tell her it was over, but she insisted it was the only way to be sure."_

"What are you talking about?"

_"I'm sorry, Scott. She swears they won't hurt him if he's really himself again."_

"What the hell is that?" Malia scrambled to her feet, instinctively backing away from the swirling black smoke that had materialized behind Scott. Letting his phone drop to the floor, Scott vaulted over the low wooden table for the second time that night, landing in a defensive crouch on the cushion next to Stiles.

Isaac let out a low whine, eyes wide with terror. Derek grabbed him by the collar and hauled him away from the smoke as it began to take on a vaguely human form. And then another, and another, until three figures dressed in black stood in the middle of Derek's living room. One by one, they turned their freaky glowing eyes towards Stiles.

The Oni were even more horrifying than Malia had imagined them to be.

"Scott, you need to back off," Derek warned. "You know how this works. You were the one who figured it out."

"You don't have to do this," Scott pleaded. "The Nogitsune is gone. Stiles has been through too much already." The masked figure nearest to the two boys made a wicked-looking sword materialize out of nowhere, pointing the tip of the blade at Scott's chest. Isaac let out another whine, struggling against Derek's grip.

_"Scott! Don't make them hurt you!"_ Kira was screaming loudly enough that Malia was sure even Lydia could hear her.

"Please," Scott tried one last time. The shadow creature slid the blade up to rest against the werewolf's throat, making Lydia gasp.

"Dammit, Scott!" Derek growled. 

Flashing his wolf eyes to show his displeasure, Scott eased away from the sword and got to his feet. Once he'd backed up a few steps, the creature sheathed it's weapon and reached out with supernatural speed to grasp the side of Stiles' head in one gloved hand. 

The second it made contact, Stiles' eyes snapped open. The creature leaned in closer, tilting its head slightly as if it was waiting for some kind of response. The only thing keeping Malia from charging over there and tearing that thing away from Stiles was the fact that one of them was watching her with the same intensity the other two were watching the unresponsive teen on the sofa.

Malia took a careful step back, wondering how quickly she could get to the door from here, and if that would be enough to keep that thing from getting to her. She took a quick glance over her shoulder to try and gauge the distance, and when she looked back it was standing in front of her.

"Shit!" she yelped, flailing a little as she tried to back pedal and spin around at the same time.

"Get away from her!" Derek roared.

The thing grabbed a hold of her the same way its buddy had grabbed Stiles, and Malia's vision grayed out, save for two tiny yellow pinpricks of light. She was dimly aware that Derek was calling out to her, but his voice was muffled, like she was under water and Derek was calling to her from the shore. That made sense, because she was pretty sure she was drowning. Her chest was filled with ice instead of air, and the awful cold was spreading through her, weighing her down and dragging her farther and farther from the surface.

"Malia! Malia, look at me! Fuck. Okay, this is gonna hurt." There was a sharp _crack_ , and she felt warmth bloom in her hand. She clung to the sensation, until she realized it wasn't heat she was feeling. It was pain.

"Did you just break my hand?" she rasped, giving Derek the dirtiest look she could muster. They were sitting on the floor, Malia half in Derek's lap with her face smashed against his shoulder. The fact that she didn't have the energy to tilt her head all the way back was diminishing the effectiveness of her glare.

"Just your thumb," Derek corrected.

"Oh. _Just_ my thumb. Gee, thanks," she muttered sarcastically. "What the hell did you do that for?"

"To jump start the healing process." Deciding it wasn't worth the effort required to respond, Malia did a quick sweep of the room. Or at least as much of it as she could without actually moving. There was no sign of the creatures, which was good. The flurry of activity around the sofa was a little troubling.

Someone had stole the comforter off of Derek's bed, and Scott and Isaac were bundling Stiles up in it like a human burrito. Lydia had Scott's phone, and was pacing near the windows, reassuring Kira in hushed tones that there was no need for her or anyone else to come to the loft.

Malia groaned, burrowing against Derek in a vain attempt to steal a little body heat. She'd been perpetually cold ever since she got her human body back, and nothing she did seemed to help. It was at the point where she was almost used to it. But what she was feeling right now was so far beyond cold it bordered on agony.

"Lydia," Derek called out. She paused near the staircase, cocking her head to indicate she was listening, Scott's cell still pressed to her ear. "Upstairs. Second door on the left. Extra blankets." Lydia nodded, saying goodbye to Kira as she trotted up the spiral steps and out of view.

"What happened?" Malia asked weakly.

Derek sighed. "Those things are called Oni. They're Japanese shadow demons. Kira's mom controls-"

"Scott explained that part," Malia interrupted. "What did they do to me?"

"They made sure you were you and not the Nogitsune."

"Why me? Stiles was the possessed one," she complained.

"Because you were there?" he replied uncertainly.

"Because she isn't human," Lydia offered, making her way towards them with an armload of blankets. The banshee pulled a thick woolen afghan off the top of the stack and tucked it around Malia. It was much softer than it looked, and smelled like cedar and mothballs and the faintest tinge of wood smoke.

"Neither is anyone else here," Malia pointed out.

Lydia shrugged. "They've already got the rest of us. Also, the last time they were at the loft, they went after me, Derek and Aiden but left Danny alone. When they went after Isaac, he was at the Argent's, but they didn't touch Allison or her father."

"When they got into Scott's house, they went after Ethan, Scott and Kira but not Scott's parents," Derek added.

"Right. So, they can sense supernatural, but they need a closer look to determine good or evil. And Stiles was… due diligence?" Lydia guessed. "It hasn't been long enough for him to register as a werewolf yet, has it?"

"I doubt it," Derek said, shifting slightly to free his arms from the afghan so he could rub Malia's back. Lydia snagged a small flannel blanket from the stack and brought the rest over to the boys to pile on top of Stiles.

"Here," she said, draping the blanket around Malia's shaking shoulders. "Is it helping at all?"

"A little. I think." Her chattering teeth made it sound like a lie, but she could almost feel her limbs again, which was definitely an improvement. Her gaze drifted back to the sofa. Stiles had disappeared completely beneath a mess of blankets and werewolves. "Is he okay?" she asked, hoping her incessant shivering could be blamed for the tremor in her voice.

"He's not having a good night," Lydia sighed. "The sooner the bite kicks in all the way, the better. Ugh," She groaned, face twisting into a sour expression. "I can't believe I actually said that. And meant it."

"Hey. Born wolves sitting right here," Derek reminded her, voice flat. Malia wasn't sure if he was teasing or scolding until the faintest hint of a smile touched Lydia's lips. 

A particularly violent shiver ripped through Malia, rattling her bones and jarring her still-busted thumb. Lydia scooted closer, smoothing a hand over Malia's hair. Closing her eyes, Malia curled in on herself and waited for the pain to recede.

"Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you?" Derek asked.

"Huh?" Malia blinked blearily up at him. She must have dozed off for a minute, because suddenly Lydia was nowhere to be seen.

"Never mind." In one fluid motion, Derek stood up and hefted Malia into his arms, carting her and her blankets bridal-style towards the stairs.

"Hey. Wha' are y'doin'?" Malia mumbled, wriggling in his grasp.

"Putting you to bed. Stop that before I drop you," Derek ordered, pausing long enough to readjust his grip. Malia promptly redoubled her effort.

"Only place you're putting me is down," Malia insisted, wide awake and struggling to get free.

"Fine." Derek leaned forwards, dropping her on her ass a few paces short of the staircase.

"Hey!" she squawked, kicking angrily at the heavy fabric still tangled around her lower body. "What the hell was that for?"

"You wanted to be put down. I put you down." Derek was standing just out of reach, arms folded and eyebrows raised in a way that somehow managed to convey _you're an idiot_. Gritting her teeth, she forced her uncooperative limbs to move in a slightly more helpful manner and got herself ungracefully to her feet. 

A chorus of yelling and flailing erupted on the sofa. Malia stumbled over, half-collapsing against the side and peering over Scott's shoulder, her annoyance at Derek forgotten.

"Stiles? Hey, are you with me?" Scott asked, peeling back layers of flannel and wool to get at the feebly stirring body hidden underneath.

"Scott?" Stiles rasped. Malia caught a quick flutter of eyelashes before Scott leaned over him again, blocking his face from Malia's view.

"Hi!" It came out as a laugh, giddy and relieved.

"What… what the hell happened?" Stiles' fingers closed around the edges of the blankets now pooled in his lap, tugging ineffectively as he tried to pull them the rest of the way off. 

"A lot," Scott replied, sounding a little more like himself as he helpfully shoved the blankets to the floor in a heap. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." Stiles, on the other hand, sounded like he was struggling to stay conscious, words coming soft and slow. "What happened?"

"Scott saved your ass. That's what happened," Isaac told him.

"I had help." Scott leaned against the arm of the sofa, tipping his head back and shooting Malia a thousand-watt grin that made him look like even more of an overgrown puppy than usual.

"Malia?" Stiles breathed, pale face a mixture of confusion and something that looked almost hopeful.

"Hey," she replied, a little uncertainly. He was staring at her like he was expecting her to disappear. Expecting, but not wanting. 

"What are you doing here?" His voice was a little stronger now, eyes a little clearer. He frowned, gaze flicking around the room before settling back on her. Using the sofa back for leverage, Stiles got himself most of the way to a standing position. "And why are we at Derek's?"

"Woah, easy dude," Scott admonished, catching hold of his upper arms and lowering him gently back on to the seat cushion. "I don't need you passing out on me again."

Stiles swatted half-heartedly at Scott until he let go. "You look like crap, Scott."

"You're one to talk." Scott's tone was teasing, but that pinched, anxious look he'd been sporting for the last week was back. 

"Seriously, what happened?" Stiles let his head fall back against the sofa with a soft thud, like it was suddenly too heavy for his neck.

"We took out the Nogitsune." Scott's smile was noticeably less cheery this time.

Stiles went very still. "Did you kill it?" he asked with a forced calm that didn’t quite mask an understandable amount of anger.

"We trapped it," Scott replied. "Deaton is gonna put it someplace safe in the morning."

Stiles nodded stiffly.

"I don't think something like that can be killed," Scott said gently. "But we stopped it from hurting anyone else. That's what's important."

"No, you're right," Stiles relented. Revenge wasn't in Scott's DNA. That much Malia had figured out for herself. He was a 'take the high road' kind of guy, which while very admirable, clearly was not a trait Stiles shared. That was fine. Malia wasn't one for the high road either. "How did you get it to let me go?"

"I sort of… forced it out," Scott admitted.

"So you're the one who hit me with the truck?" Stiles scowled.

"I guess?" Scott cringed. "I tried not to hurt you, but it didn't give me much of a choice."

"Did I hurt you?"

" _You_ didn't do anything. But _it_ didn't do any permanent damage."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who needs to apologize," Scott said softly.

"What? Why?" Angling his head, Stiles squinted down at himself, gaze finally catching on the blood-soaked fabric clinging to his shoulder. He prodded gingerly at one of the deeper punctures and grimaced, like he'd only just realized that he was hurting, and hurting badly. "Is that a bite mark?"

"Stiles, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," Scott moaned, blinking back tears. "I shouldn't have done it without asking. I didn't want to, but I didn't know how else to help you."

"You bit me," Stiles murmured, sounding dazed. "Holy shit. You actually bit me."

"Please don't hate me." 

"What? No, of course I don't hate you." Stiles squeezed his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "We talked about this. Sort of. We did talk about this, right? At the hospital? Or was that another nightmare?"

"I wish it was," Scott replied sadly. 

"So, uh, so that means I have it."

"Yeah. Well, no. Not anymore."

"Right. Um, that's good, I guess. Not dying is preferable to, y'know, dying."

"Even if it means being a werewolf?"

"It's not _all_ bad. If nothing else, it'll do wonders for my lacrosse skills."

"That's the spirit," Derek quipped dryly.

"Where's everyone else?" Stiles asked, glancing around the loft again.

"Doing damage control," said Isaac. 

"How bad?" Stiles closed his eyes, visibly bracing himself for more bad news. 

"Property damage," Malia clarified. "School basement. Nothing to get upset about."

"Did I hurt anyone else?" Uncomfortable silence followed, leaving Malia just as curious as to what the answer was. Isaac had been the only one willing to fill her in on what the Nogitsune had done once it stopped hiding, and it had been bad. Body count bad. And none of them knew if Stiles was aware of what happened. "Scott. Did I hurt anyone else?" There was a catch in Stiles' voice this time, a mixture of panic and dread. 

"We can talk about this tomorrow," Scott said finally, refusing to meet Stiles' gaze. "Peter says you need to rest. The bite should have killed you, so let's not push it, okay?"

"Peter?" Stiles blinked, seemingly startled enough to forget what they'd just been talking about. "Peter was here? You didn't let him touch me, did you?" he whined, glaring accusingly at Scott.

"Only a little," he teased.

"Ugh."

"Blame Lydia. She asked him to come."

Lydia had come back downstairs at some point, standing off to one side with Derek and clutching a first aid kit and a damp cloth.

"Wow. Thanks for that."

"Like it or not, he tends to know what he's talking about when it comes to this kind of thing." Shooing Isaac out of the way, Lydia set the kit on the coffee table and began rummaging through it. Isaac moved to the other end of the sofa, hopping up on the arm with one hip braced against Scott's back for balance.

"Ugh."

"Yes, I know. You can be mad at us later. After you get some sleep. Can you…?" She gestured at Scott, not bothering to looking up from her task. Scott helped Stiles ease out of his hoodie, then proceeded to tear a sizable hole in his t-shirt.

"Hey!" Stiles protested weakly. 

"It was already wrecked," Scott pointed out, earning himself a half-hearted glare before Stiles slumped against the cushions.

The after effects of the Oni finally seemed to be wearing off, and in Stiles' case it might not have been a good thing. His skin was paper white, breaths sharp and shallow like they had been after he collapsed back at the school. 

Scott and Isaac both reached out for Stiles at the same time, and Lydia promptly slapped both of their hands away. "No more. Either of you."

"I can handle it," Isaac insisted, getting himself another smack for his trouble.

"I'll do it," Derek offered. Stiles eyed Derek suspiciously as the older Beta chased Isaac, Scott and Malia away from the furniture. "Stop crowding him. You're not helping."

Isaac ducked into the kitchen, grumbling to himself about pushy, ungrateful friends. Malia retrieved the abandoned afghan and flopped down on Derek's bed, rolling onto her stomach so she could watch Lydia and Derek work on Stiles. Scott sat beside her, tucking the edges of the blanket in around her feet.

"Thanks."

Scott nodded absently, attention drifting back to Stiles.

Derek had taken Scott's seat, making a face at the rust colored stain the Alpha had left behind. He cupped one hand around the back of Stiles' neck. He was leaning into the touch, eyes shut tight. Derek's other hand had a white-knuckled grip on the armrest. 

The loft smelled like pain, stress and exhaustion. It had gotten to the point where Malia wasn't sure what was coming from who anymore, or how much of it she was feeling herself. It was making her edgy, but it seemed like the more she tried to focus and calm herself, the worse it got. In a last ditch effort to keep from losing it, she honed in on the one thing she'd been hyperaware of since arriving at the loft; Stiles.

Lydia was carefully wiping half-dried blood from the skin around the bite with the cloth. Stiles' fingers twitched against his thigh every time she got a little too close to the wound. She had to pause a couple of times to unstick his shirt in the places where the bleeding had stopped first, making the tendons in his neck jump when he clenched his jaw. 

Once Lydia was satisfied, she traded the cloth for a square of gauze and flushed the punctures out with alcohol, making Stiles curse. Loudly. Derek stiffened, his grip on the sofa tightening to the point where Malia was slightly concerned he was going to tear the arm right off of it. 

"There," Lydia said finally, smoothing a clean piece of gauze over the bite and taping it in to place. "Hopefully now you won't end up with gangrene."

"Thanks, Lydia." Stiles gave her a small, grateful smile.

"You're welcome," she replied, patting his cheek. Derek pulled away, tucking his arm against his chest before Stiles could see how hard he was shaking. Scott made a soft, unhappy sound, shifting restlessly and making the mattress creak beneath them. Derek shot him a warning look, and he fell silent.

Malia bumped her shoulder against his side, not knowing what else to do. If she was this upset, she couldn't even begin to imagine how Scott must be feeling. She was beginning to doubt Peter's prognosis. 

Derek disappeared upstairs, Scott all but leaping to his feet and bounding across the room. Stiles rolled his eyes, shoving his best friend playfully away when he immediately began checking out Lydia's handiwork. Scott pouted, making big sad eyes at him until he relented and let the Alpha give him a thorough once-over.

"I don't suppose my Jeep is here," Stiles asked, exasperated with the attention.

"Nope," Scott replied. "And you're not going anywhere. None of us are."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I need to find my dad," Stiles insisted, trying unsuccessfully to shrug Scott off and get to his feet.

"He's safe. He's at my place."

"And Allison?"

"She's with her dad and Kira."

"Fine," Stiles huffed. "But why here?"

"Because Scott said so," Isaac called from the kitchen.

"Yeah. Because I said so." Scott had his back to Malia, which made the wordless conversation that followed very confusing to watch. They were arguing, that much she was sure of. The argument went on until Derek returned, at which point Scott had apparently won if the scowl Stiles was sporting was any indication.

"You're not the boss of me," Stiles said sullenly.

"No, but he is your Alpha," Derek pointed out.

"Yeah. I'm your Alpha," Scott agreed.

"I'm still bleeding, and already you're trying to pull rank on me. Rude."

"Stiles. Shut up," Derek sighed, tossing a balled up t-shirt into his lap. "Here."

"What's this?"

"A shirt. Unless you'd rather sleep like that."

"Not particularly."

"Let me give you a hand," Scott offered, already tugging the stained fabric up over Stiles' stomach.

"Hey!" Stiles squawked, pulling his shirt back down with one hand and grabbing Scott's wrist with the other. 

"What?" Scott backed off, frowning. Stiles eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and Scott cringed. "Right. Sorry." 

Lydia sighed, snapping the lid shut on the first aid kit. "Come on, Malia. We're sleeping upstairs tonight. I'll show you which room is yours."

"Uh. Sure," Malia replied uncertainly. She waited until they were both standing outside of Derek's guest room before asking, "What was that about?"

"What was what about?" Lydia replied, pushing open the door.

"The shirt thing."

"That? That's just Stiles," she said, flipping the lights on and gesturing for Malia to enter the room. "He's shy. Jackson said he's like that in the locker room too."

"Jackson? As in Derek's Jackson?"

"He was never Derek's," Lydia snapped.

Malia paused, caught off guard by the banshee's sudden anger. And then it dawned on her. "He was yours."

"I thought so once."

"Do you miss him?"

Lydia lingered in the doorway for a long moment. "Get some sleep, Malia. It's been a long day." Then she was gone, pulling the door shut softly behind her. 

Malia sat on the edge of the mattress, feeling lost. It was starting to occur to her that the reason she was having such a hard time navigating around these people wasn't them, it was her. Reading people clearly wasn't her strong suit, or else she wouldn't keep putting her foot in her mouth every time she opened it. Good thing she wouldn't be human for much longer. 

Putting her lackluster people skills aside, she surveyed her new surroundings. The room was much bigger than Malia had expected. A half-dozen pot lights were recessed into what had to be at least a ten foot ceiling. A pair of rectangular windows were set high into the wall opposite the door, the kind that swung open at the bottom and had to be propped up with a steel bar to keep from slamming shut. 

A twin bed on a simple steel frame stood in the corner, running parallel to the wall beneath one window. Next to it was a small nightstand with a single drawer in the same dark wood as the dresser beside the door. There was no closet or curtains, and the walls were bare. The closest thing to décor the room had was a large oval rug a few shades darker than the bare concrete floor it was laid over.

Like the rest of the loft, it had the potential to be a really cool space, but felt empty and disused.

Derek lived almost exclusively on the main floor, the pack coming and going as they pleased. Between that, the sparse furniture and the complete lack of so much as a photo on the fridge or a stray magazine kicking around, it made the loft feel like more of a stopping point than a home. It was a little sad, and a lot worrisome. 

This place didn't seem to suit Derek at all, and Malia was starting to suspect that that was the point.

Malia hit the lights, toed off her sneakers and crawled under the covers fully clothed. The comforter was stiff and still smelled faintly like plastic packaging. She stared up at the ceiling, willing herself to relax.

Stiles' voice drifted up to her, a seemingly one-sided conversation muffled by the thick floor. Malia could make out just enough to figure out he was talking to his father.

Scott and Isaac started bickering about the best way to get Scott's blood out of the sofa, drowning Stiles out. Derek kept trying to shush them to no avail, getting more and more annoyed with the pair of them with each failed attempt. Malia pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle a giggle. Maybe getting to know these guys wouldn't be so bad after all.

Not that she had much of a choice now. They were her best shot at keeping Peter at bay.

Peter. That was the absolute last thing she wanted to think about right now. Her insides were rolling with fear and anxiety and grief, tears burning behind her eyes. Malia dragged her pillow up over her head, turning onto her side and pressing her face against the mattress as if it could block out the memory of everything she'd learned tonight.

She took a deep, steadying breath, effectively startling herself out of that particular train of thought. Both the mattress and pillow held a scent that was slowly becoming familiar, and was embedded deeply enough in the material to suggest the room hadn't always been unoccupied. This room had been Isaac's.

Shoving the pillow away, Malia sat up and leaned against the wall. Tucking her knees against her chest, she readjusted the comforter and added this new fact to the bits she'd gleaned from Stiles' friends over the last few days. As far as Malia knew, Isaac lived with Scott. But if he'd been staying here at some point after Derek turned him, it went a long way towards explaining why Derek had been so touchy about Malia bringing up his decision to bite him.

There was no clock in the room, no way for Malia to tell how long she'd been sitting in the dark turning over question after question in her mind and trying to make sense of how she'd ended up here. 

Why had Stiles been at Eichen if he knew he was possessed? 

Why had Morel thought Malia could help? 

What else was going on in this town that only the pack seemed to know about? 

What the hell had her mother been thinking getting involved with someone like Peter?

What would happen to her if she told her father the truth?

What would happen if she didn't? 

What was going to happen to her when the full moon rolled around? 

What if she hurt someone else? 

What if she killed someone else? 

What if that person was Stiles? 

Why did her brain keep circling back this person she barely even knew?

Malia groaned in frustration. She was driving herself crazy. She was overwhelmed and exhausted, but her mind was stuck on a loop and she didn't know how to shut it off. Then she remembered that the loft had a balcony.

Maybe that was it. She still wasn't used to sleeping indoors. A little air was all she needed. The loft was silent, no indication that anyone else was still awake. As long as she was quiet, no one would bother her.

Malia crept gingerly down the steel steps, careful not to get tripped up on the trailing edge of the comforter. Gathering up the heavy fabric, she made her way along the massive windows. 

Derek's bed was occupied by everyone but Derek, who was stretched out on the sofa. Isaac was lying on his stomach, one arm dangling off the edge of the mattress. Scott was asleep beside him, and Stiles was curled up on the opposite edge, his back to them. 

Slipping out on to the balcony, Malia settled herself against the wall beneath the glass. The air smelled like damp concrete and rust, which wasn't pleasant or comforting, but it was better than being cooped up. She already felt a little calmer.

The thick steel door swung open, making her jump. Stiles froze, eyeing the bed through the dusty pane above Malia's head. The noise must have gone unnoticed by the sleeping werewolves, because Stiles gave her a sheepish smile and took a few unsteady steps in her direction. He paused, throwing his arms out for balance. Malia shrugged out of her blanket cocoon, but he shook his head. 

"I'm good," he insisted. Stiles stood there for a few more seconds, swaying slightly, before stumbling towards the low concrete wall that served as the balcony's railing. 

The t-shirt he was wearing was just a little too loose, medical tape peeking out of the collar when he wrapped his arms around himself. Malia eyed his bare arms and sock feet, fighting the urge to comment. He'd been dealing with people fussing over him since he came to, and she doubted her input on the subject would be appreciated.

"Can't sleep either?" he asked, leaning against the cement across from her.

"Can you blame me?" she replied, pretending she couldn't hear how hard his heart was pounding. The frantic, uneven rhythm was telegraphing the discomfort his casual stance was masking, and it made her own heart lurch in sympathy.

"Depends. What's your excuse?"

"That's right. You missed all the excitement."

"That sounds ominous."

"You might want to sit down." Malia made a show of getting comfortable. She wasn't going to say another word until he stopped pretending that it wasn't taking everything he had to stay on his feet. Scowling, Stiles finally slid down the wall. Satisfied, she said "According to Lydia, Peter Hale is my father."

Stiles gaped at her, face twisting into a slightly less animated version of the outrage Scott had reacted to the news with. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I wish."

"Why, why would Lydia even think that?" he sputtered.

Malia shrugged. "Derek's dead mother told her."

"I'm sorry. I've had a rough couple of weeks," Stiles sighed, scrubbing a hand against the back of his head. "You're gonna have to run that by me again. With a little less crazy this time, please."

"Something about claws and banshee hearing," she told him, realizing it sounded even stupider out loud than it did in her head. How was this her life? "Peter found out about me, and his sister took away his memory so he wouldn't try to find me."

"How wrong is it that that makes perfect sense to me?" Stiles tipped his head back, giving Malia a clear view of the deep purple bruising ringing his neck. Those definitely hadn't been there before. "Minus the Talia abandoning her niece to fend for herself in the wilderness part. Peter is a scary dude, but you deserved better than that."

"Derek has a theory, but to be honest, I don't really care right now," Malia replied bitterly. 

"Fair enough." Stiles hugged himself a little tighter, shivering. 

"You should really go back to bed. You look awful."

"I feel awful," he admitted. "But sleep and I aren't really on speaking terms right now."

"You know it can't hurt you anymore," Malia said gently. "It can't make you hurt anyone else, either."

"It’s a little too soon to be asking me to be rational." Stiles straightened himself up a little, arms falling to his sides. His heart rate spiked again, whether it was from physical pain or something else Malia couldn't tell.

"Fine. You can keep me company. Get over here before you freeze to death," she instructed.

Stiles eyed her warily. "I'm fine."

"If I'm cold, you're definitely cold," she insisted, working her left arm free and holding the blanket open in invitation.

"Aren't you always cold?" he asked, forehead creasing in confusion like he wasn't entirely sure why he'd just said what he'd said.

Malia gritted her teeth against the chilly air rushing into the gap at her side. "Stiles. Shut up and get under the blanket."

"Well then. You're certainly bossy enough to be a Hale," he complained.

Malia scowled. "I changed my mind. You can go ahead and freeze."

"Don't be like that." Stiles got himself halfway to standing before he seemed to think better of it, dropping to his knees and crawling the few feet from the railing to the wall. Malia cringed. She should have gone to him instead of making him move. By the time he sat down beside her, he was panting like he'd just ran up a long flight of stairs.

Malia said nothing as he attempted to get comfortable, readjusting the comforter so that it completely covered both of them. That required the two of them squishing together, Malia's hands resting against Stiles' leg to hold the edges shut. 

"Holy crap. You're really, really warm," Stiles said happily, leaning heavily against her side.

"I am?" Malia frowned, letting her cheek rest against his forehead. She was definitely not warm. She could barely feel her fingers. Stiles however, was throwing off heat like a furnace. He seemed unconcerned when she pointed that out to him.

"Huh. Maybe I'm running a fever." He shifted closer, knees bumping against her thigh.

"That's probably not good." Malia readjusted her grip, gathering the fabric in one hand.

"Nope. Hope the bite isn't infected. Is it hotter than the rest of me?" he asked. "I mean, y'know, temperature-wise. Not like, uh, other kind of…" he trailed off, two bright pink splotches blooming on his cheeks. 

Malia bit her lip to keep from laughing. She reached over, placing her palm against the bandage as lightly as she could. "Doesn't seem to be," she replied.

"Oh good. That's, that's good."

Malia tugged him back to his previous position, letting him hide his face against her shoulder without comment. _God, he's cute._

"I know I got Scott pretty good, but are you okay?" Stiles asked a little while later.

"I am now." There was no point in lying to him. She'd healed hours ago, and it's not like any of it was intentional on his part.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Don't be. I think I got you just as good as you got me." Her gaze drifted back to the marks on his neck, which were even uglier up close. She didn't think she'd been squeezing that hard, but nothing else could have caused it. It seemed strange that they were just popping up now. Maybe it was part of the healing process. Superficial injuries continuing to ache unchecked while his body - or more likely the bite - tried to deal with the more serious ones. "Do you want to talk about it?" Malia offered.

"Nope."

"Fair enough."

Malia curled herself around him, pulling the blanket in tighter. 

"You're cool with awkward silence?"

"Is this awkward?" She could feel Stiles looking up at her, but she couldn't muster up the energy to open her eyes. "What's the difference between regular silence and awkward silence?"

"That is a good question." Stiles paused, considering. "I suppose that if we choose to sit here in silence, as opposed to sitting here in silence because we have no idea what to say to each other, then it wouldn’t be awkward silence because its silence that we chose. Silence by choice is good silence."

"Okay then," Malia chuckled. Their mutually-agreed upon silence continued, stretching on long enough that Malia was teetering on the edge of sleep when Stiles started fidgeting. Malia sighed. "What?"

"You know when you say a word over and over again and then it suddenly stops being a real word? That just, that just happened." Malia stiffened, leaning back a little so she could stare at him in disbelief. "Don't give me that look," Stiles pouted. "It's an actual thing that happens. Brains are weird like that."

"Are you sure you don't want to go back inside?" It was obvious Stiles had no intention of trying to rest, and Malia wasn't sure how much longer she could keep herself awake. And while she was surprisingly comfortable sitting here like this, she very much doubted he was.

"Nah. I'm good." He let out a huge yawn, slumping against her shoulder. "Plus I'm pretty sure I couldn't stand up again even if I wanted to," he admitted.

"You're a mess," Malia informed him, shaking her head.

"Don't I know it." Stiles gave her a tired grin. He was still unnaturally pale, making the dark circles around his eyes look almost black. The angles of his face were sharper than Malia remembered, and there was a hollowness in his cheeks that reminded her of some sickly, half-starved animal. 

She forced her gaze away before Stiles realized she was staring, fiddling absently with the blanket and trying to think about anything besides how strongly he still smelled of pain. _He's going to be fine_ , she told herself, picturing him the way he had been that day in the woods, full of nervous energy. _He's not going anywhere._

Her fingers brushed against the back of his arm and he yelped, recoiling so quickly he tore the fabric from her grasp, startling her back to the present. 

"I'm so sorry!" she gasped, panicked. "Did I, did I hurt you? I wasn't paying attention. I didn't mean to-"

"No! I'm okay!" he assured her. "Just, your hands are ridiculously cold. Oh my god. Are you sure you're actually alive right now?"

"Shut up," Malia huffed. "I told you, I'm always cold."

"But are you always this cold?" Stiles asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"Yup." she replied.

"Oh my god. Gimmie." Stiles reached over and folded both of her hands in his, rubbing her fingers. It felt wonderful.

"Stiles, you don't have to do that." Her protest sounded weak even to her own ears.

"No, I do. I really do. I don't care what you say, that is not normal."

Once he was satisfied that her fingers were no longer in danger of falling off, he let Malia bundle them up under the comforter again. It wasn't long before Stiles was snoring softly against her neck. 

~ ~ ~

The shrill creak of hinges woke Malia out of a dead sleep. Her eyes snapped open, years of deeply engrained instinct setting every nerve on high alert, searching for the source of the threat. In her haste to get her feet under her, she had a moment of panic when she realized she was pinned against the wall. Then she remembered why.

Stiles groaned, making no effort to move off of her. Lucky for him, they weren't in any danger. Not physically anyway. The sheriff was standing over them, and he didn't look happy. 

"Malia?" 

"Hi, Sheriff." Malia grabbed on to the first part of Stiles she could find under the blanket, which happened to be a patch of exposed skin above his hip. Evidently her cold hands were good for something, because he jumped at the contact, nearly cracking their heads together. 

What little sleep he'd gotten didn't seem to have done much good. His color actually seemed worse, and not only was the bruising still there, new ones had sprung up on his jaw and cheek. But his eyes were clear and focused when he looked over at her, irises turned golden by the early morning sun. Apparently they were staring at each other, because the sheriff cleared his throat pointedly, making Stiles jump again.

"Hey, uh, Dad. How's, uh, how's things?" 

The sheriff sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of course, after everything else that's happened this week, you're camped out on a former murder suspect's balcony with a missing teenager. I don't know what else I was expecting."

"Nice to see you too, Dad."

"Can we please take this inside?"

"Absolutely," Stiles agreed, taking hold of the sheriff's outstretched hand and letting him haul Stiles to his feet. Malia hung back, gathering up the comforter while the men headed inside. Stiles insisted he could walk just fine on his own, and managed to make it most of the way to the door before he stumbled, listing to one side like someone had moved the ground out from under him. "No, it's cool. I'm good," he insisted when his father grabbed hold of his arm.

"Any particular reason for sitting outside in the cold all night instead of, I don't know, recuperating?" the sheriff asked, irritated.

"There are several reasons, actually," Stiles replied, sounding just as irritated as he shrugged out of his father's grip. "None of which I really feel like discussing right now."

Malia was still standing in front of the window, clutching the blanket to her chest. This felt like it was about to get awkward, and her only exit was currently blocked. Only practical exit, anyway. Jumping off the balcony felt a little excessive. She took a few hesitant steps forward, hoping Stiles would remember she was still here, and decide they could wait until they got home to yell at each other.

Instead, the sheriff pulled Stiles into a tight hug. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Stiles clung to his dad, balling his fists into the fabric of his uniform jacket. "I'm sorry I scared you."

The sight of the two of them together stirred up a lot of feelings Malia wasn't keen on dealing with right this moment either. Dad had been so happy to see her the day Sheriff Stilinski had brought her back home. But it didn't last long. After a few days, the questions had started. Questions she didn't know how to answer, and didn't want to. And then he'd sent her away. 

"Malia?" Both Stilinskis were staring at her expectantly. "You okay?" Stiles asked.

"I'm fine."

They exchanged a look that had her thinking neither of them believed her. 

"Really," she insisted. "I'm just… I'm gonna hang out out here for a little while longer." Wrapping herself back up in the blanket, she curled up in their spot under the window and gave Stiles what she hopped was a convincing smile. He didn't seem to buy that either, but headed back inside with his father without another word.

Trying her best to not think for a while, she focused on the distant sounds of the city waking up. The rumble of trucks on the next block, machinery whirring to life somewhere to the south, voices crackling over the radio in Stilinski's squad car parked somewhere below her.

Over the smell of steel and exhaust, Malia caught a whiff of fresh bread and spent the next little while sitting perfectly still with her eyes closed, trying to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. She'd come to the conclusion it was one of the buildings about a half mile to the east and was debating head off to take a closer look when the balcony door swung open again. This time it was Derek.

"Mind if I join you?"

Malia shrugged. It was his balcony. She couldn't very well tell him he couldn't be on it.

"I brought you some coffee," he said, offering her one of the mugs he was holding. "It's black," he added. "I wasn't sure how you took it."

"I've actually never drank coffee before." Malia cradled the mug in her hands, savoring the warmth seeping into her palms. She'd loved the smell of coffee when she was a kid. She used to bug her mom constantly to let her try it, and always got a firm _no, this is a grown up drink_ in response. Taking a hesitant sip, she was surprised to find that while it smelled rich and sweet, it was in reality more bitter than anything else.

"It's an acquired taste," Derek chuckled. "I have sugar kicking around somewhere if you want it."

"It's fine like this," she said, taking another sip. Now that she was expecting it, the flavor was a little less intense. "Did you want to sit down?"

Derek dropped down next to her, and Malia turned her attention back to the elusive bakery. She found herself wondering if they had danishes.

"I talked to Stilinski." Derek stared intently into his mug as he spoke. "Stiles and Scott convinced him to pretend he didn't see you here until we can figure out what's going on with your shifting. So you don't end up back in Eichen."

"Good." If Stiles was going to cover for her with the authorities, that was one less problem for her to deal with for the moment. "But what does that have to do with you?"

"I told him you were going to stay here until it was safe."

"Here? You mean with you?" That was the last thing she'd been expecting to hear. Derek barely knew her. And what he did she would have figured would be a pretty significant strike against her given what she knew about Peter.

"It made the most sense," Derek explained. "I have more than enough room, and I have some experience dealing with new Betas."

"I'm not a Beta. I'm a coyote," Malia said pointedly. Peter could say what he wanted about genetics, but she had eight years of hard proof to back up her statement.

"You're unstable. Same difference," Derek replied.

Malia bristled at that. "From what I hear, you're not so well-adjusted yourself," she shot back.

"I meant your abilities. But thanks for that."

"Sorry." Malia gulped another mouthful of coffee before she could say anything else to get herself into trouble. Her mug was almost empty before Derek spoke again.

"I meant what I said. You can stay here for as long as you need to. But you don't have to stay if you don't want to. I'm not gonna keep you here."

While she was still human, her options were limited. She really didn't have anywhere else to go. "I think I'd like that."

"Okay," Derek replied, holding out his hand for her mug. "Refill?"

Derek was only gone for a couple of minutes, but it was long enough for Malia to begin doubting her decision. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked once Derek had a chance to sit back down. She got the eyebrows again in response, but they were more confused than condescending this time. "It's just… you hate Peter, don't you?" 

The eyebrows relaxed a little. "I have a reason to hate Peter. I don't have a reason to hate you."

"Isn't Peter reason enough?" she pressed. This was the man who murdered Derek's sister. That was a pretty huge thing to have to overlook.

Derek set his mug aside, giving her his full attention. "You're not him, Malia."

"How can you be sure? I mean, I killed my own family."

"You didn't mean to."

"Part of me did. The part of me I got from _him_ ," she spat. All of this was his fault. He ruined her life. He cursed her and took her family and her childhood. Suddenly it was last night all over again, the sucker punch of rage and grief leaving her disoriented and choking on tears.

"That part of you? I have it too," he pointed out gently. "So does Scott. And Isaac. And Stiles. And you'll learn to control it, just like we did. So will Stiles. That part of you isn't evil. It doesn't make you a monster. Choosing not to control it, letting it hurt people, that says more about who you are than what you are. Just because we're predators, doesn't mean we have to be killers."

Malia rubbed her face against fabric resting on her shoulder to dry her eyes. It still smelled like Stiles, which she found weirdly comforting. She stayed like that for a moment, breathing him in and trying to focus on how calm it made her feel without reading too much into the why. 

Her life was still a mess, and she had the feeling it was going to get a lot worse before it got better. She still had a lot to learn about who and what she really was. But for the first time in a long, long time, Malia wasn't going to have to face it alone.

**Author's Note:**

> The original part 4 is still coming. If all goes well I'll have the whole thing posted over the summer. Because part 5 is going to be a multi-chapter fic.


End file.
